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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408688">Concept of An Ideal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanSteak/pseuds/HumanSteak'>HumanSteak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Sex, Art History, Attempted Murder, Biting, Blasphemy, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Bottom Will Graham, Canon Gay Relationship, Catholic Prayers, Church Sex, Confessional, Enemies to Lovers, Gaslighting, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Human/Vampire Relationship, Jack Crawford Has Children, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Murder, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Priest!Will, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Top Hannibal Lecter, Vampire Bites, Vampire Hannibal Lecter, Vampire!Hannibal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:03:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanSteak/pseuds/HumanSteak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Though your sins are like scarlet,<br/>They shall be as white as snow;<br/>though they are red as crimson,<br/>they shall be like wool."<br/>~Isaiah 1:18</p><p>Winter 1889. Will is a young priest who faces unknown darkness as a vampire haunts his village. He must fight the devil's temptations and his own desires, while Hannibal tries to bring out the worst in him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham &amp; Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"Forgive me father, for I have sinned." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I've tortured and maimed. I've broken bones and taken lives. I've been drunk on blood and I feasted on flesh. I've sold my soul to the Devil and served the Death." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "But for this, and all my sins, I am not sorry." </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>I will tell you a story that a few people know, and even fewer remember it as it happened.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It's a story of a Priest, sin and redemption. One you will not find even in the Vatican's Secret Archives. It's a dark and twisted story, and I tell you, the Pope himself would deny it ever happened.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But it did, and perhaps the world has changed enough since the year 1889 for me to tell it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, that's when it happened. It was the winter of 1889, just short of a year since Father Will Graham came to St. Giles' Church. We buried Lady Crawford that winter, right before the first snow fell.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And when the snows came, something dark came with them. A shadow lay upon our town, a shadow of a creature dark and twisted like its story.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, dark things happened that cold winter of 1889.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>_________________________</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"That was a beautiful ceremony, Father Graham. Thank you so much," the widowed man shook the Father's hand, a little girl clutching the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm very sorry, Sir Crawford. If you are ever to need anything, I'm here," Father nodded and ruffled the girl's hair. "And you Lucille, I'll see you and your brother at catechesis on Sunday," he smiled sadly and watched the pair walk towards their carriage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was never fond of funerals, as peaceful as they were. The sight of people mourning and crying brought back memories he wished to suppress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed and walked back into the church. He kneeled at the door before making his way towards the altar. The church was small, and insides clad in a dark wood, so he always had to make sure he blew all the candles out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did so and said his evening prayers in the dark. He prayed even longer than usual, for Lady Crawford's soul and for the lives of others who would struggle in the winter that was fast approaching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will could feel it in the chill that had him shivering on his knees before the altar, and he could hear it in the cold wind that was howling in the bell tower and around the little church. It made him pull his coat tighter around his body as he stood to exit the church.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knelt again by the door and lingered a little. He didn't particularly desire to step out in the wind, even if the cottage he lived in was right by the side of the church.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment or two, he pushed the door open and walked out. The cold air was like a slap to his face. It started snowing while he was praying as well. It barely began sticking to the ground, but if it continued like that, there'd be a good few inches of snow in the morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will rubbed his hands together and sped to the cottage's door. He reached them in a few steps and grabbed the door handle, but something stopped him from opening them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wind ruffled his dark hair and made his eyes water, but it wasn't what made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was the rustling of dry leaves and a snap of a twig under the old oak by the church.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was footsteps, not far from him, but Will couldn't see a thing. The night was dark, and no moonlight could pierce through the thick, grey clouds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand shot to his chest and clutched the crucifix around his neck. The metal was ice cold on his skin, yet he didn't bother to notice it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another twig broke, closer to him now, and he was saying every prayer he knew in his head. He was not a superstitious man, though he was terrified of what lurked in the dark. In the church, he felt safe, but outside, in the open, God knew what could come for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hello?" he called in the darkness. "Is anyone there?" The only answer he got was the rustling of leaves. He strained his eyes as he tried to see what, or who was there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seemed as if a shadow was there, right under the low reaching branches of the old oak. Maybe it was a shadow of a man. Perhaps an animal. It was too dark to see through the snowfall and not knowing what was there was alarming to Will.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another sound, much like a footstep, was heard closer then. Will snapped out of whatever trance he was in, and he burst through his door. He slammed it behind him and leaned on the chipped wood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could hear the drumming of his heart if it weren't for his ragged breathing. He held a hand to his chest and took a deep breath to compose himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"A stray dog, just a dog," he whispered to himself and closed his eyes. His breathing calmed down, and his heart ceased to beat as wildly as it has. "You fool, getting scared by a stray dog," he let out a burst of nervous laughter, but he barely believed himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But deep inside himself, he knew. He knew that whatever was standing under that oak was no hungry, stray dog. He saw the shape of a man, whether he denied it or not. Yet for the time being, he felt better about himself if he lived in ignorance and tried to pretend not to have seen what he has.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked further into his cottage, lighting candles on his way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He navigated his dimly lit kitchen and cut himself a piece of bread. He spread a thin layer of butter on it and sat down by his table. It was anything but a fancy meal, and it was barely enough to suppress his hunger. It was the best Will could afford, though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn't help himself but loathe those priests and cardinals in the Vatican, walking around with their bulging stomachs and diamond rings. He knew it was a sin to hate and envy them, but how could he not when he watched people starve and live in such poverty, himself included?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shunned the pessimistic thoughts from his head and finished the piece of bread he's been chewing on. It didn't do him well to dwell in his misery, not when there were so many less lucky than him out there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stood and blew out the candles on the table before heading towards his bedroom. The bedroom was a small poorly furnished room with only a bed and a chest for Will's clothes inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lit a single candle that did little to illuminate the small room. In the weak light, he stripped his robes and folded them on the wooden chest. He shivered in his undergarments for the thin wooden walls did close to nothing to keep the cold out. He pulled his undershirt over his head, causing goosebumps to rise on his arms immediately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water he washed with was freezing. But he would not spend the little wood he had to heat the water. He would burn it in the fireplace when the days got colder. It was the only thing that kept him from freezing in the cold nights.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wiped his body with the damp cloth, the cold water dripping down his back. He felt the chill deep in his bones, and it would only get worse as the winter went on. Will dreaded it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not so much for himself, he could get by. It was the people who were about to suffer. He might not have been much of a people person, but he could pretend. Either way, it hurt him to watch them struggle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He buried many last winters, and it was not a hard one at that. He wondered how many he'd lay to rest this one after they lost a fight with cold and hunger and illness. </span>
  <span>Will knew no help would come to them. It would not come from the rich in their warm homes. Not from the Pope, far of in the sunny Vatican. Not from the queen either; she cared little for their small Christian village, he imagined.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snapped out of his thoughts when he realized he was trembling like a leaf. He wiped his body with a dry cloth and pulled a fresh pair of undergarments on. They did little to keep him warm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He blew out the last candle that was still burning and walked to the small window. It snowed heavier, and the skies grew dark with clouds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There, in the darkness, gloomed something. Something that the winter brought and not even prayers could keep it away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span>They would meet in darkness; </span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span>Their encounters would be </span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span>Feverish and doomed.</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>[ Eleanor Catton, The Luminaries ] </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Will woke up to loud knocking on his front door. He groaned and buried his head in his pillow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could not fall asleep for hours, plagued by worry and deep down, by fear. Though in the morning with the sun shining and birds singing, he seemed to forget the things that haunted him at night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushed the blankets off himself and rubbed his eyes. Slowly he stood up and stretched his stiff muscles. Whoever was at the door knocked again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm coming, I'm coming," he called and tried to pull his robes on while walking towards the door. The knocking stopped, but Will wondered who'd wake him up at such ungodly hour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finally fixed his clothes to look presentable then he pulled the door open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Morning, Father William," the girl at the door smiled brightly, too brightly for the early hour. Will didn't bother correcting her for getting his name wrong again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good morning, Freddie," Will greeted the postman's daughter, Fredrica, all while trying to conceal a yawn. He knew the young girl from the church but more so as she brought him the few letters he received in her father's stead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The village was small, but the church was half a mile away. So while her father brought the post to the villagers, Freddie ran up to Will's cottage. Usually, she was there right after the sun came up. That was quite early, Will thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I have a letter for you. From Miss Verger," Freddie snickered and handed Will a neat envelope with the Verger's seal. "I heard it's about something in the village just over the river. Something's happened there, but my father wouldn't tell me what," the girl rambled, fixing her hat atop of her curly hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He broke the seal and pulled the letter from the envelope. He skimmed through it, trying to figure out what it was Miss Verger wanted. She was inviting him to lunch, he read, to discuss the most urgent matters. She was the sister of the richest man in their village, who liked to think himself a mayor of some sort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was not rare that they invited him to their house to discuss the matters in the village. They both knew people preferred Will over them, and to some point, they did respect that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"...anyways, I reckon it's bandits or something of that sort. But they wouldn't come here. We're too poor for them," Freddie was still talking by the time Will read the letter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's nothing to worry about, I'm sure. Now run home, Freddie. You wouldn't want your father to wonder where you are," Will smiled, and the girl took off running back down the road with a wave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will envied her, how carefree and joyful she seemed, even running back home through the snow in her beat-up shoes. She didn't have the worries that seemed to plague Will more and more every day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The letter did nothing to soothe his nerves. It was urgent, almost panicked. The lady's handwriting wasn't as neat and elegant as it always has been. The letter wasn't like the usual flirtatious invites she would send when she wanted to discuss whatever it was she wanted. This time she didn't choose her words as carefully and precisely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will almost preferred those, over the one he received that morning, regardless of how uncomfortable they made him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The letter said he should be there for lunch at noon, meaning he had some hours to spare. He grabbed a coat and put on his worn shoes. He walked the short path, covered in snow, towards the church.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He got used to saying his morning prayers first thing after he woke up. He'd do it in his cottage, considering it was warmer than the church, but in winter both were unpleasantly cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked inside and shut the heavy door. It was better inside for it wasn't windy. He made a sign of the cross with his eyes raised to the crucifix above the altar. It was a simple wooden one, like everything else in the church.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He said his prayers, kneeling in the front row. Only then he realized he wasn't alone. A few rows away, by one of the side altars, sat a man. Will knew him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was a man from the village; he rarely came to the service, but he prayed in the church regularly. Will didn't know why, but God knows he wouldn't force anyone to visit the church.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kept praying for a while, but his thoughts kept slipping back to the letter. He realized his mind to be preoccupied with worries. He stood up and walked to the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wait, Father Will!" the man called him just as he was about to walk out of the church. Will turned around and waited. The man limped. He slowly made his way to the door where Will stood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How can I help you, sir?" he pushed his other frustrations aside and smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I would like to confess. In the evening," the man said and pulled his worn scarf tighter around his neck. Will barely noticed the gesture; it was quite draughty at the door, and he wished he brought his scarf as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Very well. I'll see you after the evening mass," Will smiled before the man bid him goodbye and hurried out of the church. Will followed a few minutes after. It was a much sunnier day than the day before, he realized upon stepping outside. The newly fallen snow was glistening, and he squinted his eyes in the harsh light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked back to his hut, checking his pocket watch on the way. Time seemed to be passing too slowly, for it was barely nine in the morning. It was still hours till midday when he was to be at the Verger residence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He entered his house, scoffing as he compared it to the large, brick townhouse the Verger's owned. He had a slice of bread for breakfast, saving the little butter he still had for some time he'd feel hungrier. He made a note to stop at the baker's on his way home as well while chewing the hard bread.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he finished his meal, he did some quick fixes around the house to pass the time. He folded a piece of paper and stuffed it under the leg of his table. It's been wobbly since before he arrived there, he just never came around to fix it. Then he moved to the window that he couldn't get to close and blamed it for most of the cold in the hut. He shoved a dirty cloth into the frame and hoped for the best. He never claimed to be the handiest of men, but if the rag didn't work, he might as well freeze to death one night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He observed his work for a moment, then looked at his watch again. He still had time to spare and nothing left to do. Perhaps he imagined it, but the hands of the clock seemed to move even slower than before. He ended up sitting down on his bed and grabbed the Bible from the floor. He has read it time and time again throughout his life and had it almost memorized. He would say he was tired of it already if it wasn't for his profession, but it was the only book he owned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laid there for a while, reading the Book of Revelation, and waited for the time to pass. At last, the time came to leave, and Will put the Bible away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He put his boots on and a cloak around his shoulders. He made sure to lock his door, then laughed at himself. What did he even own that was worth stealing?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will made his way down the snowed road. His battered boots were sinking into the deep snow, and he already felt the wetness seeping through the leather. Will knew his feet were going to get soaked even before reaching the Verger's house. Somehow he knew the conversation that would follow the lunch was going to be even more uncomfortable than wet feet. It was not something he looked towards, but he was desperate for some answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To discuss the most urgent of matters, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that's what Miss Verger said. Will felt it was the first time in her life that she wasn't exaggerating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tugged his coat closer to his chest as the wind picked up and stepped faster. He heard too many stories of people freezing where they stood when he was a child. He had no desire to become the next tale told to the children to keep them at home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shivering, he pushed the fence door that separated the cobbled street from the trail he walked down. The villagers must have cleaned the snow off the main road, but the stone was wet and slippery. He walked carefully, but luckily the manor was close; he reached it within minutes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will stood in front of those large wooden double door. He's been there many times, yet he never felt that cold dread seep into his bones, creep up, ominously and slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knocked on the door and waited. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span>Death twitches in my ear.</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span>"Live," he says, "I am coming".</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>[Virgil]</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A few moments passed the Verger's butler opened the heavy door for Will. He wasn't sure Cordell even was a butler; as far as Will was concerned the stout man ran all kinds of errands for Mr Verger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Father Graham. We were expecting you," he smiled and stepped aside to let Will inside. He always found the man to be rather strange, something about him unsettled Will. Cordell took his coat and hung it over his meaty arm. Will thanked him before making his way down the hall. He managed not to roll his eyes at the number of paintings and ornaments hanging on the walls. His wet boots squeaked on the marble floor as Will walked towards the dining room. He pushed another set of the heavy carved door open and entered the lavish room.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was well acquainted with the floral pattern wallpapers and heavy curtains that hung over the window. Leopard print fabric covered the chair cushions, and if the rumours were anything to believe, it was real fur they brought from one of their trips to Africa. It didn't look genuine to Will; he saw a leopard, long ago when he was a child, and he didn't remember it looking like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Father Will! It is so lovely to see you!" Miss Verger stood from her seat when he walked in. She was as friendly as always, but her smile was tight and not as bright as it was whenever he visited them. Will felt her hand quiver in his when she greeted him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Miss Verger, how are you? Mr Verger," he nodded towards the man of the house. He stood by the china cabinet, pouring himself a glass. Will was quite familiar with that sight as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, we're doing very well, dearie. Please, sit down," she said and guided him to his usual seat on Mr Verger's left, opposite of her. Will became even more aware of her strange behaviour when she failed to instruct him to call her by her first name. She was always persistent, but God knows he'd never address her as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Margot </span>
  </em>
  <span>in front of her brother</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your letter, you said there was something important to discuss," Will decided to stop beating around the bush once all three of them were seated. The Vergers shared a look before Margot turned back to Will with a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why don't we eat first, Father? I'm sure you understand we shouldn't discuss such heavy subjects over a meal," she said, causing Will to frown. He had no idea what she was talking about, and he was growing anxious. More and more, he realized, something serious was at stake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could answer her, the Verger's servants started bringing out the plates for them.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a simple meal, of roasted beef, vegetables and gravy, yet much grander than Will could afford in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>economic state</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Once the food was on the table, Will said a quick prayer and blessed the meal. They dug in and ate mostly in silence only Miss Verger tried to be chatty in between the bites. Her brother sulked in his chair and drank more than he ate, while Will nodded along and threw in a comment or two. It was not as pleasant as other times he sat at their table, the air was thick with tension, but Will opted to ignore it for the time being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the main course, the Cordell brought out the dessert, one he must have made himself, judging by the proud expression on his face. It was an almond pudding, and while Will wasn't overly fond of the dish, he stayed quiet and slowly ate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It's better than hard bread and butter anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cordell filled his glass with red wine before Will could decline. He took a sip anyway and looked at his hosts. They finished the meal, and he was eager to hear what got them so worried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, Father Will. I'm sure you're wondering why we invited you today," Miss Verger finally spoke up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am. You seemed quite worried. Has something happened?" Will asked. She seemed a little pale to him, and her brother drank a little more than usual. Something did happen. And it was grim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We received a letter from our cousin. She lives in a town a few miles south. Something- something terrible is happening," Margot's voice shook when she spoke, and her eyes were wide with fear. "You see-" she said before her brother cut her off, rather rudely Will thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In the last week, four men were found dead, the last one yesterday morning. Their throats ripped to shreds, all blood drained from their bodies. And their hearts ripped out," he spoke, his voice so monotone he almost sounded bored. "An animal attack, that's all." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"An animal attack? What animal drains blood and eats only hearts?" his sister hissed, voicing Will's thoughts. It was a comforting thought; that an animal did that. They could hunt an animal and get rid of the threat. "It's almost the same as in London last year with those... ladies of the night," Miss Verger continued, carefully choosing her words in Will's presence. He heard of that case but never paid it much attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're saying it was a man," Will said, a shiver running down his spine. He heard Mr Verger sigh and put his glass down, but Will kept his eyes on the lady. They both knew they were right, as much as they'd like to deny it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What man rips a heart out of another and drains his blood?" Mr Verger scoffed at his sister and Will, a mocking expression on his face. Will's mind slipped into his past, to the old tales and poems his nanny used to read. Stories of the corpses rising from their graves in the dead of night and roaming the villages, attacking the living and drinking their blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dry laugh escaped him, and he covered his mouth with his hand. He felt ridiculous for even thinking of something so absurd, but he couldn't think of any other explanation. The siblings turned to him, wide-eyed and bewildered by his laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"May I ask what's so funny, Father?" Mr Verger was less than amused, judging by the pointed look he threw at Will. His sister stared at her empty plate, startled by Will's reaction as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Indeed, what man drains blood? What does he do with it? Tell me, Sir, how much do you know about folklore? Old Eastern European tales, I mean," Will stared at Mr Verger. He quickly realized that the man knew little about folklore if anything at all. Margot however, she understood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Surely you're not implying-" she shook her head with wide eyes. "Father, those are only stories. Tales to scare children into staying at home."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Verger finally caught up to the conversation, this time barking out a laugh himself. Will would have found Margot's expression rather amusing if the situation were any different. She pushed her courtesies aside and rolled her eyes, turning to her brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do you mock his explanation when yours is as dense as they come?" she snapped at him and pushed her chair back. "An animal! Would you like me to bring you an Encyclopedia so you may point out which animal precisely you have in mind?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will rose his eyebrows and glanced between the pair. He felt awfully excluded from the conversation while blaming himself for the tension that arose in the room. Perhaps Will shouldn't have brought the idea up at all; thinking of it, it sounded silly. And yet, if he was right, if there was a monster out there, people had to be warned. He knew he was going to have to be the one to tell them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will could still hear the couple arguing in the background, but he closed his eyes and slowly tuned it out. Behind his eyelids, he saw faces of the people, sitting in his church. Upfront in the first row, he saw Freddie's wild curls among the other children, her hands joined in prayer. Next to her were Crawford's children and behind them their father. Further down by the aisle sat the Vergers. In the back sat Abigail, a town girl who would bring flowers to the church in the summer. All the people he knew sat there, looking up to him, praying.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will looked down on his hands, clasped in front of him. Red, bloody hands, blood dripping from his fingers to the stone floor. He frowned and looked at the people again. Their throats ripped open, gushing blood, gaping holes in their chests where their hearts used to be. Their hearts piled in a bloody mass at his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>See?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" they whispered, blood spilling from their mouths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Will opened his eyes, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Father Will? Are you alright?" He glanced at Miss Verger and saw both hers and her brother's eyes on him. He took a deep breath, willing the bloody images from his head. He painted a smile on his face and shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course, Miss Verger. Just lost in thought," he shrugged, still smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She must have started pacing while she was arguing with her brother, for she was standing behind her chair, rather than sitting on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, whatever it is that's out there, we must warn the people," she continued her speech where she must have left off. "There's a service tonight in the church. Perhaps if you would explain it to them, try to calm them down," Margot looked at Will expectantly, and he knew it was her way of asking him to take that responsibility off her hands. She and Will were both aware that Mr Verger wasn't going to help them solve the problem, not while they disagreed with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let him hunt his animal</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Will thought. In his humble opinion, Mr Verger really couldn't afford the grudge people would hold against him for that. People were going to be afraid, and Will, as well as Margot, knew they wouldn't look at them to protect them. They'd ask Will to pray for them but expect Mr Verger to rid them of the pest, which Will was sure he would not. He would huddle up in his big, warm house and wait it out, like a fox hides in its den and waits for the hunt to be over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But while Mr Verger waited out the danger, people would be dying, and folk would grow scared and angry. Will himself was scared if not yet angry. Yet underneath that fear seeping into his bones, there was something else. A feeling, almost aking to excitement, that scared Will far more than the man lurking in the shadows of the night, ripping throats and hearts out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was darkness taking hold of Will thoughts, one he thought</span>
</p><p>
  <span>was long gone from his heart. But with glares of splattered blood and empty chests flashing through his mind, he wondered whether he could hold it back. Whether he even </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to hold it back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span>In the deserted park, silent and vast,</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>
      <span>two specters conjured up the buried past.</span>
    </em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>[Paul Verlaine,</span>
  </em>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
  <em>
    <span>Colloque Sentimental]</span>
  </em>
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